Birthday Blues
by CJ Lauren
Summary: Jane's first birthday on the island. Spoilers for 6x09.


**Written for Lothiriel84 for the Paint it Red Stocking Swap 2013. The prompt is: I get the life of a lonely man.**

* * *

Jane pulls a pillow over his head as the morning light shines through his bedroom curtains. _Another day_.

He doesn't want to get up. There's no reason to – nothing he needs to get done, nobody he needs to see on this tiny island. Besides, he certainly has a lot of catching up to do where sleep is concerned, so he might as well stay put.

However, before long his bladder informs him that there is, in fact, a rather pressing reason to get out of bed. He sighs softly, and stumbles over to the bathroom. On his way back, he catches sight of his calendar, where he has been dutifully keeping track of the number of days he has spent in exile. The calendar informs him that it is _July 30, 2015_ – it is his 47th birthday.

The realization stops him in his tracks. He hadn't even paid enough attention to realize that his birthday was near, in the days leading up to it. After all, with no one to celebrate with, there is really no reason to care. It is just another day.

He crawls back into bed again, trying to block out the sun. It has been six months since he killed Red John. Six months since he has been on the island. Six months since he has seen his friends – his surrogate family. He killed Red John out of vengeance, hoping that it would set him free from the pain and loneliness that had engulfed him in the decade since his wife and daughter were killed. Instead, he is even more alone, Jane realizes with a pang of sadness.

He can't quite bring himself to regret his actions, but he hates the way things turned out; although he'd rather be in a figurative prison than a literal one, he wishes he hadn't had to give up the only people still alive who matter to him. One person, one face in particular comes to mind, compelling him to wrap his arms tightly around himself to try and block out the loneliness. How he wishes he could simply _talk_ to Lisbon, but it's too risky. The FBI would be all over her, and he's caused her enough trouble already.

* * *

It is past noon by the time Jane finally gets out of bed, and he decides to take a solitary walk along the water. He's always liked the ocean. Being there cheers him up slightly, but it also brings back so many memories – his wife and daughter laughing on the beach, building sandcastles together, and also the more recent image of Lisbon's face, glowing orange from the sunset, as she nervously laughed after he told her how much she means to him.

With that, his mood is ruined and he decides to head back for another cup of tea. He barely pays attention to the shops that he passes by, but stops short when he notices the post office, overcome by a sudden, irrepressible need to write Lisbon a letter.

This isn't the first time the thought has occurred to him, but he has never followed through; he knows that the FBI is watching her, and will pay close attention to any out-of-country mail she receives. Ditto for the rest of the team. _But_, he realizes excitedly, _they might not be watching Sam and Pete!_

It's still a risk, Jane knows, but he doesn't dwell on it. Sam and Pete probably aren't even on the FBI's radar, and he won't tell Lisbon his location, so that she can maintain deniability if Abbot goes snooping.

He hurries back to his small home, with a sense of purpose that he hadn't had in six months. He pulls out a blank sheet of paper, and begins to write, with a wide grin on his face. He's not used to smiling, and his cheeks begin to tire before he is even halfway through the letter, but nothing can wipe the smile off of his face.

After he finishes, he folds it into a makeshift envelope and hurries back to the post office, asking the two women in broken Spanish how much it will cost to mail the letter. His voice is hoarse from lack of use – he can't remember the last time he heard himself speak. Eventually, he gets his message across to the women, and hands over the appropriate number of coins.

As he walks back to his tiny home, he thinks to himself that this was a pretty good birthday, after all.


End file.
